La Belle et la Bête
by ladyofthewoo
Summary: A young woman goes searching for her missing father, only to find him in the clutches of a magical and frightening beast. At what lengths will she go for love? It is a tale as old as time, itself. Once Upon a Time (AU)
1. Chapter 1

**I used to be a ONCE fan. Now... ehh... I just... wish we could go back to the wonderfulness that was the first two seasons. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! - C -  
**

* * *

The cold moon hid behind thick blankets of clouds, casting little light upon the snowy earth. The old man peered through the tall pines, trying to catch a glimpse of the moon's whiteness. He was met with only darkness and branches. The forest was too thick; full of nettles and thorns. There was hardly a clearing in sight, save for the deer path the old man trudged upon.

The wind whipped through every branch, crying wickedly, and great gusts would splash particles of snow across the old man's face. Wrapping his scarf about his mouth and nose, he shuddered. He was getting too cold and his heart grew full of fear. His old body, though healthy and strong for his age, was tiring quickly, and if he did not find shelter soon, the Sleeping Death would be upon him.

The deer path seemed to go on forever, yet he noticed that the land was steadily sloping upwards. He desperately hoped that he wasn't imagining the incline. For, he thought, if he could reach the top, he would be able to get his bearings and, perhaps, find his way home.

On and on, he walked. His worn, fur-lined coat, though once extravagant, could barely keep the cold at bay. His walking-staff seemed frozen to his hand. At long last, the old man could see the faint light of the moon reflecting off the snow up ahead. He was reaching a clearing; an end to the strangling forest. With all his remaining strength, the old man pushed himself into a mad dash for the beautiful light.

When he finally emerged, clutching his chest and breathing heavily, his bleary eyes could hardly take in the scene before him.

It was a bizarre castle.

A castle made of harsh metal and dark stone. Tarnished by time, the ancient castle was surrounded by black walls made of marble and dead, thorny vines. Deliriously, the old man stumbled towards its iron gates, headless to its threatening appearance.

As he entered into the courtyard, his eyes widened with disbelief. Though he had just left a seemingly dead, frozen landscape, he now appeared to be in a magical spring garden! The ground was not covered with snow, but with soft grass. Well-trimmed hedges and patches of snapdragons lined a rich, marble pathway. A pink-stoned fountain sat cheerily amongst the flowers, spewing frothy water into the air. Most magnificent and enchanting of all that he gazed upon, were the roses. All about him were great shrubs of tall, heady-scented, crimson roses. A warm breeze swept through their leaves, banishing his chill and making the winter seem a dim memory.

The old man dropped his staff and clasped his hands together. Surely, he thought, he must have died and he had passed through the very gates of heaven itself. Falling upon his knees to thank God, his vison blurred as he began to faint.

As his body slumped onto the grass, a dark figure materialized before him in a whirlwind of a strange, purple cloud. Though he could not see the stranger, the old man heard his cruel, high-pitched laughter, before falling into oblivious unconsciousness.

* * *

"Belle! Gods—Belle! Will you stop for one minute?!"

"Gaston," she snapped, neither turning around nor stopping. "My father has been missing for three days! I don't have time for this! I have to go find him!"

They were in the small stable by her house, where she was saddling her horse, Phillipe, and checking her harnesses. Gaston had arrived unannounced, and was leaning against a beam, his arms folded across his wide chest.

"Your father is fine," replied Gaston. "Probably took a scenic route or something." Stepping forward, he grabbed her upper arm and forcibly turned her around to face him. Her cornflower blue eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger.

"Let go of me!" she demanded. She struggled against him to free her arm, but was frustratingly unsuccessful. Gaston chuckled; compared to him, she was small and weak. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer to himself, until she was pressed intimately against him.

"You know, usually," he began in a casual tone. "When a girl's father leaves town, I'm the first one she tells." He paused, hoping she would catch onto his subtle implications. "I thought for sure when your father left you would call for me."

"And why would I do that?!" she spat back at him. He frowned. Apparently, he pictured this conversation going a different way.

"Because we could be _alone_ together, of course," Gaston said slowly, as if he were addressing a child. "Your father is always hiding you away from me, but with him gone—well, we're free to do whatever we want."

His eyes lowered to her mouth and he gave a wolfish smile. Belle blinked up at him.

"If you think for one second that—" she stopped herself. From the look in his eyes and his grip on her arm, she could tell that arguing with him would get her nowhere. Gaston was both determined and foolish; a dangerous combination. She needed to keep her wits about her.

Gaston was considered by all to be the most handsome and respected man in the village. He was young, tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular. He had rich, black hair that flopped charmingly across his forehead, and his eyes were the color of an artic sky; intense, blue, and cold. He had inherited a large estate with many acres of farmland. The gold in his purse never seemed to dwindle. If all these traits weren't enough, he was also considered the most skilled hunter in the county. His kills were always impressive, and the town displayed their stuffed carcasses in the community tavern as an honor to him.

Most girls would kill for a night in his arms.

Ever since Belle and her father had moved to the small country town, Gaston had singled her out for conquest. The residents of the small town seemed to be as equally entranced by her, for she quickly became the favorite subject for gossip.

 _"Did you hear about the newcomers that just moved in?"_

 _"They say he used to be a tradesman, but squandered his wealth!"_

 _"Well, I heard that he's a travelling inventor on the run from debt collectors!"_

 _"They speak so strangely! I don't know if we should allow foreigners in our town…"_

 _"Have you seen his daughter? I heard that she's the most beautiful creature to ever walk God's green earth!"_

 _"Yes, but I hear that she's mad as a hatter, and a shut-in to boot!"_

 _"Such a pity. Such a pity."_

Gaston, having heard such rumors of her loveliness, was the first visitor to their home on the outskirts of the city. They lived in a tiny white-washed cottage with a fence and stables. He first saw her while she was feeding chickens. One hand was tossing feed to the ground, and the other was holding an open book for her to read. Immediately, he knew he wanted her, for she fit her name well. Beauty.

She appeared small and delicate, yet her body was curved in a decidedly feminine, seductive way. Her hair was tied away from her face, and fell in curls of rich auburn. Her countenance held a classical beauty, with pale, creamy skin and serene wisdom in her laughing, blue eyes. He would have taken her that very moment, if her father had not emerged to greet him.

Maurice was a big man, though old in years. His hair and beard were grey, and his muscles only hinted at what they had once been. His eyes were a mere shadow of blue, compared to Belle's, yet they sparkled with intelligence.

Gaston had played, at the time, a friendly and harmless neighbor. He began visiting her house often, trying to catch her unaccompanied. On the rare occasion that she went into town, he followed her the whole way. At first, Belle was flattered by his attentions, but as she came to know his character, these sentiments quickly turned into annoyance. He was constantly trying to woo her with bragging and crude remarks. These attempts seemed to her chauvinist, disrespectful, and infantile; traits she could never love in a man.

One day, when she was headed to market, he followed her down an alleyway and cornered her. When she told him to let her pass, he crushed his mouth into hers. The unwanted kiss was dominant, painful, and possessive. When he released her, she found herself holding back tears and shaking in anger. Speechless, she had looked up into his handsome face and thought he was the ugliest man in the world.

"Come on, little girl," he had said in a low, predatory voice. "You know you want it."

With her fists clenched in defiance, she used all her strength to push him away and hurry off to market. She could hear him laughing, as though terribly amused.

"You can't tease me forever, Belle!" he had called after her. "One of these days I will run out of patience!"

It appeared that day was today. His hold on her wrist tightened, forming bruises on her otherwise flawless skin. Thinking quickly, she put on a charming smile and allowed a thoughtless giggle to escape her mouth.

"Oh Gaston," she said, ducking down her head and looking up through her eyelashes. "You're right, of course! Without my father, we are free to do as we please… how silly of me not to think of calling you!"

At this, Gaston released his grip on her wrist, trailed his hands up her arms, and settled them upon her shoulders. She, in turn, held his wrists in her hands and smiled coyly up at him.

"Silly indeed, little girl," he nearly purred. "That's why you need a big, strong man like me to help you think you of such things."

She sighed at his words. Bending down, he lowered his head to kiss her when, using her grip on his wrists as leverage, Belle thrust her knee sharply into his groin. Gaston bellowed in shock and pain, as he fell to the ground like a sack of flour.

Without a word, Belle wrapped her cloak about her and quickly climbed onto the large horse.

"Y-you—!" Gaston sputtered angrily. "Bitch!"

Belle simply smiled at him, gave Phillipe a quick kick, and sped off into the sunset.

* * *

Maurice opened his eyes in darkness. He was lying on a cold, stone floor with clumps of moldy straw strewn about. There was no source of light anywhere, and he wondered, for a moment, if his eyes were actually working at all.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice sounding weak.

No answer.

Sitting himself up, Maurice felt panic well up in his chest. What was he to do if he were alone in this dark place?

"Hello?" he called out again, desperately.

A laugh.

A thrill of fear raced down Maurice's spine, for the disembodied laugh hardly sounded human. In a rush, the dream-like memory of the castle, garden, and mysterious laughing figure sprang fresh into his mind. He stood up quickly, but kept his head bowed. Reaching out, his hand met with cold, iron bars. He used them to keep himself from swaying off his feet.

"My lord," he called out. "I beg your pardon! My name is Maurice French. I am but a humble tradesman, and I meant you neither harm nor offence. Forgive me, good sir, for trespassing upon your estate and allow me to go about my way."

"Ah, ah, ah," sing-songed a voice in the dark. "Hardly seems customary to allow a prisoner leave merely because they stated their name and trade…"

The voice was as strangely pitched as the laugh had been; liltingly accented and chillingly jovial.

"If you really want to leave," the voice continued. "Why, all you have to do is say the magic word!"

Maurice blinked in the dark.

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course, dearie," replied the voice, conversationally. "It's all rather common sense, I would think."

"Ah… well…" Maurice stammered, uncertainly. "P-please?"

There was a moment's pause, then a refreshed gale of terrible laughter.

" _Please_?!" repeated the voice between shill giggles. "That's not even _remotely_ close to the proper word! Clearly you've had poor magical training!"

Maurice's hands gripped tightly to the bars. His captor was clearly toying with him. Just as he was about to rebuke the trick, a pair of golden eyes suddenly gleamed through the darkness.

"Perhaps I should teach you magic," the voice hissed, threateningly.

Maurice stumbled backwards onto the cold stone floor. He watched, in fear, as the gleaming eyes approached.

"Who are you?" Maurice whispered. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" the voice replied, dipping into a frightening growl. "I want to know how an old fool, like yourself, thought he was going to kill the master of the Dark Castle."

"The Dark Castle?!" Maurice cried in terrified awe. "B-but sir! I was merely lost in the woods! I could—that is, I would never dream of—!"

"As for who I am…" the voice continued, ignoring the old man's cries. "If you can tell me my name in three guesses, I will let you go. Deal?"

The old man trembled; at last, he knew who he was speaking to. Stories about the Dealmaker had been circulating for centuries, though he had always believed them to be nothing but that—stories; tales meant to frighten children on winter nights.

Dizzy from fear and weakness, Maurice nodded mutely. He could hardly escape the clutches of such a person. What choice did he have but to appease his captor and play his games?

"I'll take that as your agreement!" the voice cried out, joyfully. "What is your first guess?"

"You are the Trickster," Maurice replied, fairly confident.

"Ding! Wrong!" said the voice, happily. The glowing eyes widened with mirth. "Does that even sound like a name to you?"

"I… uh… suppose not," Maurice said before letting out a violent cough and, struggling, tried to compose himself. Leaning back against the stone walls, he ran his weathered hands across his face and wiped away beads of cold sweat.

"You are…" Maurice began again, less certain. "Ah… y-you are… the Dark One."

"Ding! Ding! Wrong again!" the voice replied. "These are all titles, lad. I wanted to hear my name. I'll even give you a hint—it's a doozy of a name!" He chuckled briefly at his own joke. "Now, come on, one last chance…" The voice trailed off with a menacing hiss.

Fearfully, Maurice struggled to come up with an answer, but could find none. He cursed his fuddled brain and horrible memory. His Belle would know. She had read every blasted story ever written; she would know this beast's name, easily.

The thought of Belle caused tears to cloud his eyes. He knew he could never guess the name of his captor, but he could guess the consequences for failing. What if he never saw his precious girl again? She would be completely alone in the world. No, he assured himself, she would have the house, and she would be safe. She was young, intelligent, and at a marrying age. She would be alright.

"Well?" asked the voice, impatiently.

Maurice wiped away his tears and let out a resigned sigh. Looking up into the reflecting, golden eyes, he gave a faint smile.

"Bob?" he supplied, in a dead-pan voice.

There was no response for a moment, but the gleaming eyes seemed to close. Then a guffaw of laughter burst forth, merry and genuine. Maurice, in the insanity of the moment, laughed along in the darkness.

"Bob?!" cried the voice, incredulously.

A spark of light blinded Maurice, cutting off his laughter, but increasing that of his captor's. When his eyes adjusted to the light, the old man cried out in alarm. Flames without torches grew out of the tops of the stone pillars that lined the dungeon. Looking to his right and left, Maurice realized he was inside a metal cell, in between two others. In his neighboring cells, lay putrid skeletons from centuries long forgotten. The cold stone floor was covered in moldy straw, dirt, and maggots. Black manacles and chains lined the walls, and in the center of the chamber floor was a dull copper stain, the remnants of old blood that had been spilt.

Most frightening of all was the figure that stood outside the bars of his cell. The Dark One, the Imp, the Trickster—he was standing before him, still laughing. Inhuman hands of reptilian skin with blackened fingertips held onto the metal bars of the cell. Enlarged, malicious eyes of gold bore into Maurice's soul. A wicked grin revealed his mischievous intent and sharpened, yellow teeth.

"I'm afraid that's wrong, dearie dear," he said in a friendly voice. Maurice's eyes grew wide as the creature stepped through the bars as though they were not even there. With nowhere to hide, the old man pressed his back into the stone wall, hoping that somehow, he too could materialize through the cell. Silently, the Dark One bent before him and peered into his eyes.

"Well," he remarked. "Nothing to say?"

Maurice could only stare at the bizarre creature before him.

With a bored shrug, the Dark One stood up again. Then, with a flick of his hand, he vanished in a cloud of purple smoke, snuffing out the torchless fires as he left. The glow of his eyes were the last light Maurice saw before, they too, were replaced with inky darkness. The old man screamed out, "Wait!" but only silence answered him.

Maurice had been left alone in the dark, to rot.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a day's journey to the neighboring port-city of Greyrock. Belle had travelled through the night and arrived sometime in the following late morning. The sun was peeking dimly through the clouds when she arrived. As she rode past the crowds, all the townsfolk and fisherman seemed to be talking about was the weather. The cobbled streets were already lined with dirty slush. The last thing anyone wanted was more snow.

Belle made directly for the docks. If anyone was to know where her father was located, it would be the crew of the trade-ship, _The Gold Seeker_. Many years ago, when they lived in her home country of Avonlea, her father had been the inheritor of a trade company. Mostly they exchanged with tradesmen in Agrabah; silver and fine goods for cinnamon, curry, and black pepper. They were prosperous in that business, until a violent storm lost their ships and livelihood. Belle and her father became nearly destitute overnight.

However, one ship, _The_ _Gold Seeker_ , remained unaccounted for. For years, Maurice held onto the belief that _The Gold Seeker_ would be found, and would someday make port once again. It had seemed as though his faith had paid off, for some months prior they received word that the ship had finally come home.

Apparently, it too had been damaged by the storm, but had been able to land on a small, uninhabited island. The battered crew had spent the next year using resources from the island to repair the ship enough to take it to the nearest city. They remained in the for a few years, using the remaining spices as currency to keep the crew together and to repair the ship.

When they finally returned to Avonlea, they were dismayed to find their employer missing. After some months of investigation, they finally tracked him to the small village near Greyrock. The ship's captain, Liam Jones, had personally written to Maurice about their trials and encouraged the old man to meet them in the port-city within a week's time. Her father had been so overjoyed at the news that he left very early in the morning the day before their arrival.

That had been six days ago. Belle knew her father had not planned to stay longer than a night. She trusted the crew of _The Gold Seeker_ , for she remembered them from her youth. Her main worry was that some other misfortune had befallen them, keeping her father away for longer. Yet, if that had been the case, her father would've written to her. Something wasn't right.

As she approached the docks, she dismounted and led Phillipe to a fence to tie him. Confident that he would not wander off, she made her way down a long pier lined with merchant ships. At the very end was the vessel she sought. It was easy to find, for at the bow of the ship was a carved, wooden angel bearing the likeness of her mother.

"Belle!" a masculine voice cried out to her.

Before she could respond, she was swept up into a pair of strong arms and twirled about. Surprised, she gave out a small, alarmed cry. The man set her down, and it took her a moment to recognize his face.

"Killian?" she asked, realization dawning on her face.

"Aye, love," he replied, grinning giddily.

With a laugh, she jumped up and embraced him.

"Killian! My God! Killian—you're alive!" she cried out joyfully. "Look at you! You're so old! My God! You're humongous!"

"Oy," he said with mock indignation. "I think you mean to say, 'Oh, Killian! You've grown into such a handsome rogue' or something along those lines…"

She chuckled and hugged him again.

"I'm so glad to see you, my old friend," she confessed. "We thought you were dead... we… we mourned for you…"

"I'm much too stubborn to be killed," he said, gently. "No need to mourn on my account. I had a lovely time stuck on a tropical island. I… ah… I'm only sorry the rest of the fleet was not so lucky…"

He looked away from her up to the ship to wave down another crewman, but not before Belle caught the reserved pain in his dark eyes. It was clear that he had gone through more hardships than he let on, and from his comment, she wondered if he felt guilt that he had survived it. The thought wrenched her heart.

He had indeed grown up, and the thought brought her a strange kind of sadness. It was as though something had been taken from him and lost, leaving behind a different person. It was true that he had undeniably grown into a handsome, tall man, yet, his body was like one who had been rescued from suffering and starvation.

The last time they had met each other, they had been silly, awkward sixteen-year-olds. Killian had been shorter than her, with shaggy, black hair that could not be tamed, and a crooked smile that the city girls went mad for. They had spent every summer swimming in the sea, growing tan, and playing pranks on the crew. At night, he'd visit her father's house and she would read to them. He confided his dreams of becoming a captain, like his brother, to her. Though he never said it, Belle had often wondered if he had loved her.

The man she looked upon now resembled little of the carefree boy she had known. She wondered to herself if anything in her resembled the girl she had been.

The man Killian had been waving down was his brother, Capt. Liam Jones. As he approached, he opened his arms for Belle to embrace him. She ran to his arms.

"Miss Belle," he remarked, happily. "I am glad to see you, child. What a beautiful woman you've become!"

She said nothing for a moment, but kept her face pressed into his chest.

"Nonsense, captain," she said, leaning back from him wiping away a tear. "You must be going blind in your old age."

He chuckled at her teasing—she and Killian had always teased him for his age. When last he saw her, he had been in his thirties and oddly sensitive about it. Old age seemed such a foolish fear to him now. He was lucky to have lived so long.

Smoothing the hair back from her face, he tenderly cupped her cheek, and smiled at her.

"Ah, Belle," he said. "You've always been a spark of light in a sea of darkness. I'm happy you are here, but… where is your father? It's dangerous for a young lady to travel alone, these days."

Belle's smile fell. "You mean," she began slowly. "He isn't with you?"

"No," Capt. Liam replied. "He left us three days ago."

Belle's eyes widened and she stepped out of Liam's embrace. The two brothers looked at her with confusion and concern. Casting her gaze downward, she bit her thumbnail in thought.

"Did he leave with the horse he rode upon?" she asked.

"No," Killian supplied. "Your horse, Tristan, cracked a shoe. Your father went to a smith to have it replaced. They saddled him with a loaner and promised to bring Tristan to your home in five days' time."

She nodded, her eyebrows furrowing. "So he was on an unfamiliar horse," she said, aloud. "Did he leave in the morning or evening?"

"Evening," said Killian. "We asked him to stay longer, but I think he was eager to be back. He mentioned bringing you on our next visit, so we could all catch up again. The weather was fair, so he believed it to be no danger."

"Belle," Capt. Liam interrupted. "What is the matter? Did Mr. French not make it home?"

"No, he did not," she said with a sigh. "And I think I know why. It may have been good weather that night here in the city, but if he took the mountain-route, he would have been met by a snowstorm."

"By the Gods!" Killian exclaimed. "We must look for him at once!"

"No," Belle said, curtly. "I will look for him. I know my father already gave you orders to return to Avonlea and hire a fresh crew. Your men have been through enough, and you must leave the harbor before the ice sets in. From the look of the clouds, I would say you don't have much time for search parties."

"Belle, don't be foolish," Killian began.

"How am I being foolish?" she interrupted. "I am the only one with a horse. I am also the only one with some knowledge of the area."

"The mountain is enormous," Killian returned, hotly. "How will you cover so much ground without getting lost?"

"There's a kennel in this city," she replied. "I'll hire a hound and tracker. Killian, I will cover more ground efficiently if I use intelligence and resources, rather than acting emotionally."

Killian threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "Resources be damned—it's dangerous, Belle!" he shouted.

Liam, remained silent, studying Belle's features. Before she could respond to Killian's outburst, Liam reached into his pocket, pulled out a small pouch, and handed it over to her.

"Silver," he said. "Enough to get you a decent tracker. Don't let them cheat you. You'll want someone with experience, not a boy with a pup."

"Brother, you can't be serious?!" Killian cried.

"Find your father and send us word when you are both safe," he told her, ignoring Killian. "We owe you much more than a small bag of silver, and it would grieve us if you were lost."

Belle began to protest, thrusting the purse back to him, but he caught her hands and closed his own about hers. Looking at their entwined hands, then back to his face, she nodded, solemnly.

"I promise," she said.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon before she and her hired tracker set out on their search. Her tracker ended up being a grumpy dwarf who refused to give her a name, but who came with surprisingly good credentials and recommendations. He spoke very little, and mostly responded to her in grunts.

His dog, a hound named Copper, found Maurice's scent rather quickly. The three of them were soon racing through the forested mountain.

The people of Greyrock referred to the mountain as _Old Rock_ , and usually went out of their way to travel around it. Though the mountain route was considerably quicker, stories of spirits and beasts kept the superstitious townsfolk away. There was also a strange aura that seemed to permeate from its slopes. Any skeptic who traveled upon it would later remark that they had felt a desperate urge to leave; a feeling they could not explain.

Belle did not feel the desire to leave. All she could feel was her need to find her father.

The path grew steeper and narrower with each mile. Thick, dead trees grew in stifling closeness about them. Copper remained on the road for quite a while. After three hours of endless plodding, the hound finally gave a loud howl and began to run.

"He's found something!" the dwarf yelled at her from his horse. "Hurry up!"

Belle urged Phillipe on and they raced after the dog. Suddenly, they came across a mass lying in the road. Copper barked and whined when he approached. It was a dead horse; chunks of its flesh were ripped from its side and scattered about the path.

"Ehh," the dwarf said to her, awkwardly. "Best not look at it, lady."

Her eyes widened. She shook her head and forced herself not to vomit at the sight. "Tell me, what has happened here!" she demanded.

The dwarf got off of his horse and approached the carcass.

"Wolves," he said, after a moment's inspection.

Belle's heart caught in her throat. When the dwarf gave no further explanation, it took all her willpower to keep from screaming at him.

"What about my father?" she asked, as calmly as she could.

"Alive," the dwarf grunted. "Though it seems like he ran from the path."

Belle released a slow, relieved breath. Pressing her hands to her eyes, she lowered her head to gather her wits.

"You alright, little sister?" the dwarf asked, sounding surprisingly gentle.

"Yes," she replied, lifting her head back up and pushing her hair back from her face. "Let's continue."

They turned towards the crowded wood, off the main path, and followed after Copper.

* * *

The deer path seemed to go on forever. It ran directly west, heading for the mountain's peak. After traveling for hours, the slope became so steep and the way so narrow, that the horses refused to go further unless led by the hand.

Still, Copper kept on.

By midnight, a light snow began to fall and the dwarf remarked that they needed to stop for the night. However, Belle refused. Though she had not slept for an entire night and day, she could not stop until she knew her father's fate.

Grudgingly, the dwarf conceded. He could go for days without sleep and it did not bother him. It was clear, however, that he was growing concern for his dainty employer.

At last, Copper whined and stopped.

"Copper?" the dwarf called out, puzzled. The dog did not move, but whined softly. He stood at what seemed to be the edge of the forest, for they could see the reflection of the moon from the clearing ahead. The dwarf hurried up to his side.

"Why does he not go any further?" Belle asked, as she approached.

"I don't—" the dwarf began, but was rendered speechless. Belle walked up beside him and gasped at the sight.

A great castle sat in the clearing. The snow, reflecting the moon's light, created an eerie glow about it. A great wall of marble and vines surrounded it, and a tall, black gate stood at its entrance. Copper whined and, with his tail tucked beneath his legs, backed away from the clearing. Belle, on the other hand, stepped forward.

"What are you doing?!" the dwarf hissed.

"My father must be in there," she replied softly. "I am going to find him."

"Then you're going in there without us," he said with a shudder. "This place… something doesn't feel right… we shouldn't be here." He looked at the castle, then back to her.

"Come on, lady," he called out, softly. "Let's go back. Even if your father _is_ in there, I don't think you'll like what you'll find."

She turned and tossed him the bag of silver, her curled hair whirling about her moonlit face. He caught it, mouth slack with surprise.

"Thank you for your help and concern, my friend," she said, offering him a tired smile. "I wouldn't have gotten this far without you. Go back to the city, and take care."

Grabbing Phillipe's reigns, she turned and headed for the gate, leaving the awed dwarf behind.

"But—" he began to call out, but stopped himself. With a growl, he grabbed the reigns of his horse and turned them about. Copper followed beside him, still crying softly. As they began down the path into the crowded forest, the dwarf stole one final glance over his shoulder at the girl.

"Good luck, sister," he mumbled and hurried away.


	3. Chapter 3

The courtyard was empty. Dead bushes and withered plants lined a cold, marbled pathway. Snow, covering the ground, lay untouched. If her father had passed through these gates, he would have left footprints. Three days time was not long enough for those imprints to be fully covered. Belle's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Phillipe was tied to the metal gate, and was pawing nervously as he watched his master journey onward. As Belle walked further down the marble path, she passed a fountain made of pink granite. She eyed the spout of water that had been frozen mid-motion. Clearly the water pumps of this estate were still in working order, which meant someone still lived there.

The path eventually led to a pair of great wooden doors. Belle stood before them, considering whether she should knock or not. In the end, she pulled her cloak about herself tightly, as if physically gathering courage. With a calming breath, she pulled the great handle of the door and silently slipped inside.

The main hall she entered was extravagant, enormous, and devoid of life. She stood before polished wood floors, painted ceilings, and walls of tapestries. To her right, tall windows, which reached from the floor to the lofty ceiling, were covered in rich, red velvet curtains. Dim candles lined wooden panels on every wall, both lighting the large room, and making it seem smaller and more intimate. A great wooden table, large enough to seat twenty guests comfortably, lay in the very center of it all.

However, the most peculiar object she found was, in a corner, at the far end of the great hall.

It was a peasant's spinning wheel.

It was well-used wheel, with a seat large enough to be shared by both a master and an apprentice. Compared to all the finery of the room, Belle felt oddly comforted at the sight of it. While everything else about the castle seemed to have an almost dream-like quality, the spinning wheel felt real and tangible. Yet, why was such an object there in the first place? She was missing the key element in this mystery.

Taking and lighting a candelabra she found sitting on the grand table, she debated her next move. To her left was another set of tall doors. Directly in front of her were two great staircases, which curved from the left and right side, and met in the middle. In between the base of the stairs, there was a smaller door, like a servant's entrance. She paced from one side of the room to the other, hesitating in her choice.

A sound, like a cough, drifted from the small servant's door as she passed before it.

At first, Belle wasn't sure she heard anything. The sound had been so faint. She pressed her ear to the door and the sound of coughing returned, quiet but certain. Without hesitation, she pulled the heavy door open and rushed inside.

She was met by solid stone walls and a winding, stone staircase leading into a pit of darkness. She shuddered, involuntarily. Clutching her candelabra high, she made her way downwards.

Down, down, down; as if into the very center of the hell, itself.

When the staircase came to an end, she was surprised to find it had led her to nothing but a small room surrounding a storage hatch on the floor. Lifting the hatch, she was greeted by a faint cry of alarm. Descending quickly down another short flight of stairs, she was met with a horrible image.

Her father lay in a cell of metal, surrounded by dirt, straw, and vomit. He was trembling and covered in sweat. His breath came out in gasps, occasionally interrupted by wet, weak coughs.

"Papa!" she called out to him. He looked around the room, as if in a daze, and squinted painfully at the light.

"Belle," he whispered. "Belle?"

Rushing and stumbling to her knees, she knelt before the cage and held her father's hand. His skin felt cold and clammy. He could not seem to muster the strength to sit up.

"Oh Papa!" she cried, gulping back a sob. "What has happened?! We have to get you out!"

"Belle, Belle," he whimpered, clinging to her hand. "Why are you here? Oh, my sweet girl, why have you come here?!"

"Papa, I've come to take you home," she said, firmly. "It's going to be alright. I'm going to take care of you."

Setting down her candelabra, she searched the dungeon for keys, a weapon—anything of use. Maurice kept mumbling and crying words of nonsense.

"The Imp will get you, child!" he was saying. "Leave this place! Please, my love! Leave me! Don't let him catch you!"

Belle returned to her father's door, carrying a human leg bone she had found in his neighbor's cell. With all her strength, she began to beat the lock on the door with it, trying to free him.

Suddenly, a gust of wind pushed her against her father's cage, slamming the hatch-door shut, and snuffing out the light of her candle. Total darkness fell about them, and Belle whirled about to face it.

"He's here," whimpered the voice her father. "He's here!"

As if on cue, a strange high-pitched laugh emerged from, seemingly, nowhere.

"Who is there?" she demanded, sounding braver than she felt. "Who are you?"

"Why, I'm the master of this castle, of course," tittered the disembodied, cheery voice. "But enough about me! Tell me, lady, who are _you_?"

"I've come for my father," she stated plainly. "Please let him out—can't you see that he's sick?!"

The voice hesitated, as though not expecting so severe and blunt an answer.

"So he is," said the voice, lowering its pitch to that of a snarl. "He should not have trespassed…"

"Is that reason enough to imprison a sick man in the dark without food or water?!" she retorted, angrily. "He could die!"

"And why should I mind that?" the voice replied. "I gave him plenty'a chance to earn his freedom when he first arrived."

Belle trembled and gripped the bars of her father's cage.

"Please," she said, her voice quivering. "Please let him go. I will do anything, please."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," was the reply. "The deal is struck and cannot be undone. In fact! For trespassing the Dark Castle, I should imprison you with him!" He giggled cruelly. "At least then you'll be together, ay dearie?"

"Dark One," Maurice croaked. "Allow my daughter the chance to leave… she is young… have mercy…"

"Ah, but you see, there's much more _fun_ to be had with an imprisoned young lady," the voice said, huskily. Then, laughing, joyfully cried, "But! The old man's right. Fair's fair. If you can give me my name after three guesses, you're free to go, young lady. Do we have a deal?"

"No," Belle replied calmly.

"No?" both her father and the voice repeated, in confusion.

"I propose," she began, choosing her words carefully. "That if I can guess your name, you will allow me to take my father's place—to be your prisoner till the end of my days—under the condition that he would be returned home, unharmed."

Silence greeted her.

"You would take his place?" the voice asked, incredulously.

"Belle!" her father cried. "Don't throw your life away! I'm old… and you have still so much to live for!"

Ignoring her father, she said into the darkness, "I would if you adhere to my terms. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," replied the voice. "Are you absolutely sure? It's _forever_ , dearie."

Belle paused, as if hesitating, then breathlessly asked, "May I look upon you first?"

A giddy laugh rang throughout the room.

"Why, of course," sang the voice. "But I'm afraid it will make you change your mind!"

Torch-less fires sparked at the tops of the dungeon's stone columns, and orange light flooded the room. Belle's eyes adjusted quickly and she gasped at the man who stood before her.

His skin was scaly and grey with flecks of gold woven throughout; an odd shade of brown hair curled dangerously on his head; his clothes were made of dragon's hide and leather; his eyes were unsettlingly large and the color of amber; his wide, crooked smile was lined with predator-like teeth.

"Well, dearie?" he said, approaching her slowly and allowing her to look at him carefully.

Belle looked up at him triumphantly, causing his smile to falter. With complete confidence she calmly replied, "We have a deal, _Rumpelstiltskin_." 

* * *

Maurice could only watch in horror as his daughter spoke a name; a strange name fit for a strange man.

Belle's back was pressed against his prison. One of her hands was gripping the metal bars, while the other still held onto the leg bone. Looking past her, the old man could see the creature's face shift from a look of disbelief to one of frightening sternness. In the dim light, it made his appearance seem even more frightening. Though he could not see his daughter's expression, he heard her breath catch in her throat.

Walking forward, the Dark One approached his daughter with the movements of a cat stalking its prey; slow and still.

"Stay away from her!" Maurice called out with what little strength he had.

Rumpelstiltskin turned to him with a look of disdain in his eyes. He waved a hand at the old man, as if to dismiss him. Purple smoke and lightning surrounded Maurice, but before he could cry out in alarm, he was in his room at home.

The cell, the dungeon, the castle, and the monster were gone.

And so was Belle.


End file.
